


Eloquence

by papercutperfect



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, regency au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 16:34:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papercutperfect/pseuds/papercutperfect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short and indecent regency AU. Charles is reading. Erik distracts him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eloquence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ninemoons42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/gifts).



> Written with this wonderful picture in mind:
> 
>   
> (Credit to galidor, at Livejournal)

"I knew I would find you here. You’re a predictable man, Xavier."

Serene blue eyes remained fixed upon the leather-bound book held between hands cuffed with lace, idle fingers flicking pages with the nonchalant grace of a man long aware of his audience, "I could say the same of you."

"Why is that?" Erik twitched an eyebrow, predatory amusement in the curl of his lips.

"I knew you would seek to find me."

Damn. Round one to Charles.

"Touché." Pushing himself from the doorframe, Erik’s boots rang loud on wooden floorboards as he stepped further into the room. The library was huge, much larger than that of his own home, lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves boasting more books than one person could read in a lifetime. Deep scent of vanilla and well-thumbed pages, yellow light spilling in thin beams through arched windows overlooking the grounds, "Do you object?"

"Do I look as though I have any objections?" Still Charles continued to read, though the small smile half-hidden behind his opened book betrayed his somewhat cool exterior; inviting, secretive. Perched in the cushiest of armchairs by the window, hair a wash of deep chocolates and subtle red, Charles flicked another page of his book.

He really was the most seductive creature Erik had ever had the fortune of meeting, crafted from wit and intelligence, with skin paler than those porcelain dolls Xavier’s mother was so fond of.

The comparison begun and ended there: whereas the dolls were soulless and frozen, Charles brimmed with heat and confident mischief. On the surface, a proper English gentleman in silk and brocade: a devil lurked beneath that decadence, laughing with delight when Erik’s impassioned fingers would tear silver buttons from his coat. So different to the gilded peacocks of this world, free from condescending judgment and eager to be shoved against wood-paneled walls, to talk late into the night of things often thought taboo.

"What are you reading?" Erik moved closer, dancing fingertips over the spines of the books he past. Charles shrugged lightly, crossed one leg over the other. A flash of white stockings beneath the black rim of his knee-length boots - Erik swallowed hard.

"Bit of a dreary thing, only recently published. A female author, isn’t that exciting?"

"Read to me,"

That got Charles looking up at long last, curiosity a clear burn in his eyes, "Why?"

“Why not?” His practised smirk held a challenge, "You have a beautiful voice."

Entirely true; the young Lord had a voice of velvet, enthusiastic when speaking of literature and psychology, so warm and well-rounded. It could, however, change from dulcet to irresistibly sinful at the drop of a hat, becoming a honeyed purr whispering wicked things into Erik’s ear. He would never tire of hearing it, especially not when it dropped lower still, slid past the lines of coherency into nothing more than panted moans of Erik’s name, hitched breaths sharp and strong between the cries for more more more -

Though who could forget Erik’s favourite of their recent encounters; Charles’ fingernails digging into crumbling brickwork, breeches a puddle at the man’s knees as he was bent over the waist-high wall surrounding Westchester Manor. White teeth sank deep into those red red lips, fighting desperately to keep quiet - anyone could see them out here in the open, and there would be no mistaking their activities. Erik’s hips snapping forward, hitting so deep Charles was beginning to shake under him, muscles of his back flexing with the need to hold on, wait, drag this out until his hands were bleeding from their white-knuckled grip.

Charles gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment, mouth stretching into a playful smile. He nudged Erik in the thigh with his boot, nodding toward the floor, "Make yourself comfortable."

Erik sank to his knees, grey locked with blue. He licked his lips, watched the sleek lines of Charles’ throat shift in a gulp.

Charles took a breath, and began to read:

"When he was present she had no eyes for anyone else. Everything he did was right. Everything he said was clever,"

Silently, Erik inched closer. Closing a large hand around the raised ankle of Charles’ crossed leg, he watched the mans face as he unhooked them, pushed them apart. Charles kept reading, not yet wavering.

"If their evenings at the Park were concluded with cards, he cheated himself and all the rest of the party to get her a good hand. If dancing formed the amusement of the night -" finally Charles’ masked demeanor slipped, his words stuttering on a gasp; Erik smiled almost sweetly, fingers pausing in their tangle of laces at Charles’ breeches.

"Please continue."

Charles glared, but drew in a determined lungful of air, "If dancing formed the amusement of the night, they were partners for half the time; and when obliged to separate for a couple of dances, were careful to stand together - oh, Erik-!"

Erik, who was pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to the front of Charles’ loosened breeches, soaking the rich fabric with strokes of his tongue. He laughed, low and dark as Charles dropped one hand from the book to grip a fistful of auburn hair, "Do go on, Lord Xavier; we’re not at the climax yet."

His hair received a nasty tug for that.

Squirming in his seat, Charles cleared his throat and tried to keep his voice level as Erik’s fingers pushed past layers, drew him out.

"...were careful to stand together and scarcely spoke a word - oh, god, yes! - t-to anybody else. Such conduct made them, of course, most exceedingly - Erik, Erik, please, must you tease me - most exceedingly laughed at; but ridicule could not shame - _oh_ \- and seemed hardly to provoke them."

The book dropped from Charles’ hand to thud, forgotten, to the floor. Erik didn’t mind at all; the heated eloquence of Charles’ soft cries told a story all of their own, one that would bare Erik’s name on its final page.


End file.
